


Of Masks and Men

by yerawizardlani



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Felicity Smoak is a total BADASS, Felicity babbles, Felicity has a sister and she's amazing, Felicity meets the vigilante first, Girl Power, The Lance Sisters, Tommy Merlyn is Alive, rating might go up eventually, season 1 AU, we'll see...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-06 19:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12217482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yerawizardlani/pseuds/yerawizardlani
Summary: Becoming tech support for the Starling City Vigilante wasn't exactly on Felicity Smoak's five-year plan, not that she had one. But if she did, it would definitely NOT have included becoming Girl Wednesday to a grumpy mysterious stranger who likes to shoot arrows into criminals.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story just sort of popped into my head and demanded that I write it. I'm not entirely sure where it's going, but I'm excited to find out. 
> 
> I make no promises about update schedules, but I will do my best to update at least semi-frequently. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow or the characters within it.

The blaring of Felicity’s cell phone draws odd looks from the people passing on the street. With a huff, she digs through the black hole that is her purse and answers without pausing to check the caller ID.

“Curtis, if you change my ringtone one more time, I’m going to make it so that all of your electronics play Rebecca Black’s _Friday_ on a loop. Do _not_ test me on this,” she growls into the phone, ignoring the alarmed look one teenager gives her as she stomps by. The sound of choked laughter on the other end crackles through her speakers.

“What? You don’t like _White and Nerdy_?” Curtis’s voice is too innocent for the occasion, “Because honestly I thought it was pretty fitting, all things considered.”

“I’m serious, Curtis,” Felicity snaps through the phone, resisting the urge to use her loud voice in the middle of a crowded street, “What if that had gone off at work?”

“So you’re _not_ still at work?” Curtis asks, sounding pleasantly surprised, “I was starting to wonder. You do realize you’re supposed to be meeting Bree and me at Byte fifteen minutes ago, right?” Felicity winces guiltily.

“I lost track of time working on the firewall,” she explains, “I’m heading to my car now, I promise.”

“Well good, because your sister is officially in scary freak-out mode over that thing this weekend, and I’m pretty much useless at calming her down.” Felicity rolls her eyes.

“By ‘thing,’ do you mean ‘meeting Jason’s parents this weekend?’” she clarifies, “because I can pretty much promise you that you’re gonna need tequila for that particular crisis.”

“You want me to give your sister _tequila_?” Curtis sounds alarmed at the prospect, and Felicity grins, because…yeah. Breeana Smoak and tequila was not a combination that many people took on lightly.

“Don’t let her have more than two of their Tequila Mockingbirds and you should be fine,” she assures him, “After that, switch her to water. I’ll handle the rest when I get there.”

“I’m on it,” Curtis promises, “Get here when you can.” The line clicks off and Felicity slides the phone back into her purse with a smile that fades as she begins to note her surroundings.

The streets had been crowded when she left work, but now they had emptied until just the occasional passerby hurried past. The sun setting cast deep shadows as the skyscrapers of Downtown blocked much of the remaining light. Felicity’s neck prickles uncomfortably as she shifts her purse and quickens her pace.

“This is what I get for parking four blocks away from work,” she mutters to herself as she tightens her grip on her purse, wishing she had invested in some pepper spray or something. “ I should’ve just applied for that QC parking pass,” she continues under her breath, “It’s not like I don’t work late 87% of the time.” She turns onto a deserted street and the hairs on her neck stand up.

“I hate this,” she whispers, “I hate this, I hate this, I hate— she cuts off with a squeak as an arm reaches out and tugs her into a darkened alley. The feel of cold steel against her throat makes every muscle in her body freeze.

“Make a sound, and you’re dead,” growls her assailant. Felicity can smell cigarettes and cheap booze thick enough to choke, and it makes her shrink back into the cold brick of the alleyway with a whimper, her eyes darting around in search of an escape. The man in front of her presses the blade further into her skin, and Felicity bites back a cry as a sharp pain is followed by the warm trickle of blood from where the knife nicks her throat. All of her attention now focuses on her attacker.

He’s big. Too big to fight off, even if there wasn’t currently a very compelling knife pressed against her skin, and his eyes are dark with a malicious glee that sends a shiver through Felicity’s spine. His teeth are yellowed, and he looks like a man who has seen better days. Felicity watches as his eyes rake over her figure appreciatively, and she’s struck with the urge to smack him even as she trembles in his grip, cold blade still pressed against her windpipe.

“Your purse and all your jewelry, pretty please,” he orders with a dark grin. Felicity tosses her purse as far from them as she can manage, quickly followed by her grandmother’s ring and the delicate silver chain that Bree gave her for Chanukah last year. Hot tears burn at her eyes as she waits to see what the man will do next. The look he gives her tells Felicity that he knows exactly what she is trying to accomplish by throwing her things so far away, and Felicity silently prays that he’ll take the bait.

With a glare, the man lowers his knife and steps toward her purse. As soon as he steps away, Felicity runs, darting for the safety of the well-lit street ahead of her. Her heel catches on a crack in the pavement, and Felicity gives a small yell as her ankle twists beneath her, sending her crashing toward the asphalt. She hits the ground with a smack, and her hands and knees sting with the impact, her ankle throbbing. She doesn’t pause before pushing herself back to her feet, eager to get away, but at that moment, a fist wraps around her ponytail and yanks her backwards with a cry. Her ankle protests as she finds herself slammed up against the alley wall once more, the man pressing into her with a laugh.

“Not so fast,” he sneers, “I’m not done with you yet, pretty girl.” Hot tears leak silently down her cheek as he strokes her collarbone with interest. Felicity shudders.

“I disagree!” a gravelly voice interrupts, and both Felicity and her attacker freeze to look towards the voice. Felicity’s eyes scan the darkness for any sign of a rescue. A man steps out of the shadows.

He’s dressed in green leather, a hood pulled over his head, casting his face in shadow, but she can see enough to know that he’s furious, every line of his body tensed for battle. He’s holding a bow: arrow nocked and pointed directly at the man currently holding her hostage.

“Let her go,” he growls, and Felicity nearly sobs in relief. Her attacker tightens his grip on her arms, and Felicity is sure there’ll be bruises where his fingers press. He seems to be weighing his odds in this fight, his lip curling in rage. Without warning, he pulls Felicity in front of him, using her as a shield between him and the man in the hood. Felicity’s savior tenses at the movement, but he adjusts his aim to follow the man holding her.

“Take her,” her attacker snarls, “she’s not worth it,” and Felicity is shoved forward, her head cracking against the pavement as she hits the ground at her rescuer’s feet. The world blurs for a moment, and a groan escapes her lips as she closes her eyes against the bright spots of light in her vision. She hears the _thwick_ of an arrow and a cry of pain, but she doesn’t look up to see what is happening. She flickers in and out of awareness for a few moments, and the feel of cool leather against her cheek brings her back.

Slowly, Felicity forces her eyes to open, and she struggles to focus her swirling vision on the shadowy figure in front of her. She can’t tell if the blur is from a concussion, or from the fact that her glasses are currently lying somewhere on the ground, having gone flying as she’d fallen. Her rescuer seems to have noticed this, because a moment later he’s gently sliding the glasses onto her face and Felicity decides that the blur is definitely a concussion.

His face is obscured by shadow, but Felicity can see his clenched jaw, and his lips drawn into a tight line of concern. She lets out another moan, shutting her eyes once more.

“Can you stand?” his voice is softer than before, still low and gravelly, but with less fury. It slides over Felicity, low and soothing. She tries to push herself up, pausing as the world begins to spin.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I think I’m going to puke,” she squints up at him in consideration, “Are there supposed to be two of you?” she asks, “Not that I’m complaining, because that might actually be awesome.” A dim voice in the back of her mind whispers that she’s going to remember this conversation later and die of embarrassment, but she can’t bring herself to care about her lack of filter through the concussion. The man’s lips quirk slightly, and suddenly she’s being lifted to her feet by strong arms wrapped gently around her shoulders.

She sways slightly, and presses her weight down on her right ankle. Her leg buckles beneath her as she gives a cry of pain, and the vigilante’s grip tightens as he keeps her upright.

“Your ankle might be sprained,” he murmurs, “You need to go to the hospital.” Felicity frowns as his words set in.

“I am going to get _such_ an earful over this,” she mumbles to herself, already dreading the lecture on safety that she is sure to hear the second Bree gets wind of what has happened. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Felicity attempts to hobble towards the street, but only the man’s firm grip keeps her from tumbling back to the ground. Without a word, the vigilante bends down, scooping her into his arms, bridal style. Felicity lets out a small squeak in alarm.

“Oh no,” she protests quickly, “No, no, _no,_ ” her words slur slightly, “I am _not_ going to play damsel in distress while you carry me. I don’t care how good you look in leather.” It takes a moment for her words to sink in, and this time Felicity closes her eyes against the mortification.

“Pretend I never said that,” she orders, and the vigilante lets out a small huff of surprised laughter. He ignores her protests and begins walking. Felicity quickly averts her eyes as they pass the unconscious figure of her attacker, lying tied up in the alleyway, a dark arrow protruding from his thigh like an ugly thorn.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks after a few minutes, fighting the urge to lean into the vigilante’s broad chest as drowsiness begins to set in, “I doubt you can carry me all the way to the hospital, even if you _do_ have muscles of steel.” He lets out another huff, shaking his head, and Felicity feels a small twinge of pride as she watches his lips curl into a small smile.

“There are security guards working the desk at Queen Consolidated,” he rasps, and Felicity is fairly certain that he’s purposefully lowering his voice as part of his disguise. “They’ll call the police and make sure that you get to a hospital,” he continues. Felicity gives a sleepy nod.

“You should really consider a voice modulator,” she suggests, still fighting the urge to nod off, “Much easier on the vocal chords.” His lips twitch again.

“I’ll consider it,” he murmurs, and it might be Felicity’s imagination, but this voice seems like it might be closer to his real voice. She nods, satisfied with his response, before wincing as her brain protests the movement.

“You know, no one ever tells you that concussions are so…” she pauses to think of the word she wants, “sloshy,” she finishes with another nod. The man carrying her lets out a surprised bark of laughter that makes Felicity smile wider.

“Sloshy?” he repeats incredulously. Felicity gives an exaggerated pout.

“My brain is currently sloshing around like the cheap margaritas my mom likes to serve on Cinco de Mayo,” she explains with all seriousness,

”Slosh, slosh, slosh…” she makes a swishing gesture with her hands to emphasize her point. The vigilante chuckles, and Felicity thinks it’s a sound she’d like to hear again.

“Maybe you should try to avoid getting concussions in the future,” he suggests diplomatically. Felicity frowns, her brain struggling to understand his tone.

“Was that a joke?” she asks finally, “did you just make a joke?” He smiles, and it’s as much an answer as she’s likely to get. Felicity decides that she likes his smile almost as much as his laugh. It’s a nice smile.

“No one is more surprised than I am,” he admits, and Felicity feels her own lips quirk up in response.

“I didn’t think the Starling City Vigilante made jokes,” she teases happily.

“Only when he rescues cute blondes,” he tells her, and her smile grows wider.

“Lucky me,” she murmurs before finally allowing her head to fall back onto his chest. They fall into silence for the rest of the walk, but Felicity perks up once more as they near the doors to QC.

Their entrance must seem alarming to the average onlooker, because they’re barely through the glass doors before they find themselves at the wrong end of several guns.

“Don’t move!” shouts a young guard, barely a teenager, whose hands shake as he aims his gun. Felicity shoots the vigilante a worried look as he instantly freezes. She’s a little worried that this kid might shoot them on accident, and she shifts closer to the man holding her as if that might offer her some protection. She doesn’t miss the way he seems to shift her so that he stands between her and the guns pointed at them.

“I’m just dropping her off,” he explains carefully, his voice back to full growl, “She’s hurt and needs medical attention.” There is tense silence for a moment before one of the guards shifts forward, squinting at them curiously.

“Ms. Smoak?” he calls, and Felicity recognizes him with a rush of relief. She smiles widely at the familiar face.

“Benny!” she calls in greeting, before frowning, “I thought you worked day shifts?” she asks in confusion. Benny instantly lowers his gun.

“I’m covering for a buddy of mine,” he explains, his soft brown eyes running over her in concern, assessing her injuries with a darkening expression.

“What happened?” he asks her, and there’s a note of fury running through his voice.

“She was attacked,” the vigilante chooses that moment to cut in, his voice all gravel and grrr, “The man who attacked her is tied up in the alley off of 23rd, two blocks from here.” Benny frowns at this information, his demeanor all business as his training kicks in. It’s a far cry from the loveable sweetheart Felicity sees every morning.

“Lower your guns,” he orders the rest of the men still circling them, “Ms. Smoak is an employee here,” he explains at their skeptical expressions. Felicity is probably the only one who notices the way the vigilante’s muscles tense at this information, and it’s only because she has an up close and personal seat to this show. She files that information away for later when her head doesn’t feel like it’s filled with sea water and rocks. Instead, she watches as the guards reluctantly lower their weapons, and she breathes a small sigh of relief.

Slowly, the man holding her lowers her into one of the lobby chairs, and it takes more self-control than she’d like to admit not to wrap her arms around him and cling on.

“Thank you,” she murmurs instead, just as he’s stepping back. He freezes for a moment, and Felicity can’t see his eyes, but she can’t help the feeling that he’s studying her.

“You’re welcome,” he answers finally, before straightening. Felicity instantly misses the secure warmth he’d offered.

“Make sure she gets to a hospital,” he orders, looking directly at Benny, who nods grimly. With that, the vigilante pushes the doors open and melts into the night.

“What the frak just happened?” Felicity mumbles, before finally giving in to the circling exhaustion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity wakes in a hospital to a very worried older sister, and her life just continues to get stranger by the minute. Starting with a visit from Starling City royalty...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! First of all, I want to say a huge thank you to all of you that commented on the first chapter. Seriously, you guys are amazing, and I'm so glad that people are enjoying the story so far. It warms my heart. <3
> 
> Second, I want to say that you should absolutely NOT get used to getting a new chapter every day, but I was really inspired and I wanted to get this out ASAP since you guys were so lovely in the comments. I AM going to try to post a new chapter every week, in case anyone was wondering about a posting schedule. I am making no promises though.
> 
> We get to meet Bree in this chapter! A lot of the people who commented said that they liked the idea of Felicity having a sister, so here's to hoping you guys like the reality of it as well. :) As always, comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated. You guys rock!!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow or any of it's characters. If I did, Felicity and Oliver would be married already, and not whatever season five was.

Felicity wants to murder someone, or, more accurately, some _thing_. Typically Felicity was a strong advocate for treating machines with the proper respect, but in this case, whatever machine was making that incessant beeping noise needed to die. _Now._

Blinking her eyes open takes a monumental amount of effort, and for a moment, she is met with nothing but confusion as she stares up at the blurry image of an unfamiliar ceiling. Then it comes back to her: the attack, the rescue by none other than Starling City’s very own vigilante, and her subsequent trip to Starling General where the doctors pronounced her ankle sprained and her head concussed, and then admitted her for overnight observation.

Felicity struggles to sit up with a groan, her muscles feeling like a group of seven dwarves had taken hammers to them. Her head is currently housing the percussion section of the Starling City Orchestra, and the heart monitor is still _beeping._ There is a not small part of Felicity that wishes she could drop back into unconsciousness, if only so that it wouldn’t _hurt._

She notices the figure out of the corner of her eye, and her entire body freezes. For a brief, insane moment, Felicity’s thoughts fly to the vigilante coming to check on her, but then she gets a better look at the familiar figure and she wants to laugh. Her sister is snoring obliviously in the hospital chair, looking like a trip to the chiropractor waiting to happen. _Of course_ it’s Bree. The vigilante hardly seemed the type to check up on random women he rescued in dark alleyways, even if he  _did_ say she was cute.

Felicity shifts slightly in her bed, and the movement is enough to alert her sister to the fact that she’s awake. There is a solid two seconds in which Bree does nothing but stare at her, and then Felicity’s arms are filled with older sister as she spits brown hair out of her mouth. To her surprise, Bree is actually _shaking._

“Thank god you’re okay,” her sister whispers, her voice choked as she clings tightly to Felicity, and this is _far_ more alarming than anything else that has happened tonight. Felicity cautiously wraps her arms around Bree and gives her a reassuring pat, waiting for Bree to loosen her grip slightly.

“I’m fine,” she tells her sister, “Really, Bree, I’m completely fine,” she pauses, because even when trying to reassure, Felicity isn’t a big fan of lying to her sister, “Well, not _completely_ fine,” she amends, “since my definition of fine generally involves less hospital beds and more mint chocolate chip, but I’m _going_ to be fine, which I think is probably the most important take away from this whole debacle, all things considered.” She bites her lip to stop the babbling as Bree gives a watery chuckle and finally, _finally_ loosens her grip to lean back. She keeps one hand on Felicity’s elbow though; as if she’s reassuring herself that Felicity is really there, and not dead in a ditch somewhere. She gives Felicity a long, searching look, and it’s a little too much like their mother for comfort. A snort breaks through the silence and both women look up to see Curtis standing in the doorway, two cups of coffee in his hand, and looking a little like he’d just come off of a night of coding and energy drinks. There was an amused smile on his face, which softened the lines of exhaustion somewhat.

“I would blame that on the concussion, except I think we all know that brain injuries have no bearing on your lack of verbal filter,” he teases, stepping into the room. Felicity’s eyes narrow in on the precious liquid in his hands.

“I hope one of those is for me,” she says, and watches in amusement as Curtis’s eyes widen slightly at the underlying threat in her voice. He takes a half step back.

“Um…no?” he answers, looking uncertainly at Bree, “I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to give you caffeine until your concussion clears,” he explains, “At least, I _think_ I read that somewhere.” Felicity pouts.

“You brought coffee to my sick room and you didn’t even get me some?” she whines, eyeing the cup pitifully. Curtis wavers slightly, but a glare from Bree makes him straighten his shoulders, pulling the coffee farther out of her reach.

“Sorry, Lis,” he says, a real note of guilt in his voice. He hands the second cup off to Bree, who accepts it with murmured thanks, taking a small sip as she steadily avoids Felicity’s gaze. Felicity huffs.

“What is the point of being in the hospital if I can’t even get sympathy coffee?” she grumbles to herself. Curtis shakes his head, sitting himself at her feet and giving her legs a comforting pat through the thin hospital blankets.

“I promise I’ll buy you all of the coffee you want just as soon as the doctor clears it,” he tells her, and Felicity beams at the idea of free coffee in her near future.

“Well at least _one_ good thing came out of this mess,” she observes with more cheer. Bree stiffens beside her, and Felicity winces guiltily as she mentally curses her lack of brain-to-mouth filter.

“You shouldn’t joke about this,” Bree scolds, wearing her worried face, which bears a remarkable resemblance to Donna Smoak’s worried face, and wasn’t _that_ just terrifying. “You could have been killed.” Felicity’s stomach twists uncomfortably at the slightly frantic look in her sister’s eyes. She could practically see Bree’s brain running through all of the possible outcomes. Felicity holds her hand out and wiggles her fingers enticingly. Bree shoots her a small smile as she slips her hand in, and Felicity gives it a tight squeeze in comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity whispers, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Bree blinks rapidly, her throat bobbing as she swallows thickly.

“When I got the call that you’d been attacked…” she starts, her voice cracking on the word “attacked.” Felicity gives another tight squeeze.

“I’m _fine_ ,” she reminds her sister, “I promise Bree, I’m okay.” Bree glares.

“You have a traumatic brain injury, a sprained ankle, and bruises _everywhere_ ,” she snaps, “You’re pretty far from _okay._ ” Felicity resists the urge to roll her eyes at her sister.

“First of all, I’d hardly call a mild concussion a _traumatic brain injury_ ,” she corrects, “that just makes it sound so much worse than it actually is," she takes a moment to consider this, "Can you even call it a traumatic brain injury if it doesn’t result in at least _some_ temporary memory loss?” she wonders aloud.

“ _Yes_ ,” Bree insists. Felicity waves a hand dismissively.

“I’ll be fine just as soon as I get a good night’s rest and a pint of mint chip,” she says. She pauses, “and maybe a therapist,” she adds finally, “because I _so_ do _not_ want to deal with the nightmares this is going to bring.” At the stricken look on her sister’s face, Felicity quickly backtracks.

“Or _not_ bring!” she corrects hurriedly, “Nope. No sir. No nightmares here!” Bree looks like she wants to press and Felicity shoots Curtis a panicked look.

“You know, on second thought, maybe you _could_ use some coffee,” he muses, offering up the cup in his hands. Felicity barely reaches out before Bree is batting her hands away with a glare.

“Absolutely not!” she hisses, “We are _not_ endangering your health for the sake of one cup of crappy hospital coffee,” her sister insists, “Wait until the doctor clears you, or at least until we can get you something that won’t taste like muddy water.” Felicity smiles.

“Awww, you _do_ care,” she coos. Bree swats her shoulder in mock irritation.

“Shut up, brat,” she orders around a grin, all thoughts of Felicity’s hypothetical nightmares forgotten. Felicity breathes a sigh of relief; she was _not_ up to a Breeanna Smoak Interrogation™. Bree learned all of her interrogation techniques from their mother, and Donna Smoak could probably teach the CIA a thing or two. 

A knock on the door makes the three of them look up. A nurse in green scrubs stands at the door, looking vaguely frazzled.

“Excuse me, Ms. Smoak,” she starts, “but the Queen family is requesting a moment to speak with you.” There is complete silence as this sentence sinks in. Felicity blinks.

“I’m sorry, did you say the _Queen family_ wants to speak to me?” she repeats finally. The nurse nods in confirmation. Felicity feels the blood drain from her face, and she looks to the others in panic.

“Frak,” she squeaks. Bree is the first to recover, because _of course she is_.

“What is the Queen family doing here?” she demands, sending a sharp look toward the waiting nurse. The nurse shrugs unhelpfully.

“They were probably alerted after the vigilante dropped one of their employees off in the lobby of their building,” Felicity answers. A thought occurs to her, and it does little to calm her down. “Frak! You don’t think they’re going to fire me, do you?” Panic begins to set in, and the beeping of the heart monitor picks up, sending sharp spikes of pain through Felicity’s skull.

“I’m pretty sure you could sue them for wrongful termination if they did,” Curtis notes. Bree shakes her head.

“You could definitely sue them if that happens,” she confirms, ever the Law student, “but back up just a second. Did you just say that the _vigilante_ saved you?" she asks, "As in _the Starling City Vigilante_? Guy who wears a hood and likes to shoot arrows into one percenters? _That_ vigilante?” Felicity blinks, and it occurs to her that she is on very dangerous ground. Bree isn’t looking at her like a sister right now. She’s looking at her like a lawyer: a lawyer who happens to be a pissed off older sister. This is bad. This is  _so_ bad.

“Did I forget to mention that part?” she asks uncertainly. Bree’s eyes narrow in fury.

“Explain. _Now,_ ” she hisses.

“Explain later,” Curtis corrects, “because as much as I would _love_ to hear this story, and believe me, there are very few things in this world that I want more right now," he shoots Felicity a look to show that he is serious, "you have the Queen family waiting on you, and they do _not_ strike me as the type of people that you keep waiting.” Bree glares unhappily at both of them.

“Fine,” she huffs, “But you _will_ explain.” She gives Felicity a very pointed look that tells her that Bree has no intention of letting this go. Felicity gives a reluctant nod.

“You guys should go,” she says, “Paul is probably missing his boyfriend at this point, and Bree, you still need to pack for the trip to Tennessee for Jason’s parents’ wedding anniversary.” Bree shifts in her seat, suddenly interested in a crack on the far wall, and Felicity narrows her eyes.

“No,” she says, “No. _Absolutely not_! You are _not_ using me as an excuse to skip this!” Bree pouts.

“Felicity, you were attacked,” she reminds her, and there is a definite note of pleading in her voice, “I’m sure that Jason’s parents will understand.”

“Well I won’t!” Felicity insists, “I’m _fine!_ And you need to grow up and _meet your boyfriend’s parents!”_ Bree narrows her eyes in the way she does before making a counterargument.

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” she argues with a note of triumph, “You have a concussion. Someone should be staying with you.”

“Curtis will be here,” Felicity shoots back, “He can keep an eye on me while you’re gone. Next argument?” Bree opens her mouth and Felicity decides to bring out the big guns.

“Do you love him?” she asks, and Bree’s face goes blank. There’s a note of panic in the back of her eyes at being confronted with her feelings, and she shoots Felicity a look of utter betrayal.

“It’s a simple question,” Felicity tells her, “Do you love him? Yes, or no?” She watches as Bree closes her eyes.

“You know that I love him,” Bree whispers finally, “ _Of course_ I love him. He’s _Jason_. How could I _not_ love him?” Felicity feels a tiny ball of warmth bubble up in her belly as she watches Bree’s face soften at the thought of the man she loved. She gathers Bree’s hands in her own and holds tight until she is sure Bree is looking at her.

“ _I love you_ for wanting to take care of me,” she tells her sister, “but I’m a big girl, and right now you need to meet Jason’s parents more than I need my big sister at my side.” Bree doesn’t look convinced, but Felicity can see her wavering.

“I promise I’ll be fine,” she repeats, willing her sister to believe her. Bree relents with a tight nod, and Felicity grins in triumph.

“You call me if you need _anything_ ,” Bree orders, fixing Felicity with her patented Big Sister Stare™, “I’m serious.”

“I will,” Felicity nods, “I _promise._ ” Bree turns to Curtis.

“Anything happens to her while I’m gone and I will hold you personally responsible,” she warns, and Felicity watches Curtis swallow nervously. She rolls her eyes.

“That hardly seems fair,” she notes, “I mean, Curtis can’t predict everything. What if a meteor crashes into the hospital?” Bree shoots her a glare.

“You’re my baby sister,” she states simply, “Fair’s got nothing to do with it," she gives Curtis another warning glare before continuing, "I suggest Curtis hack into NASA’s servers and start monitoring for incoming meteors.” Felicity smiles.

“I love you, too,” she says. Bree waves her off, clearly done with her share of emotions for the day. She gives Felicity a brisk kiss on the forehead before standing, coffee in hand.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” she tells Felicity, “try to stay out of trouble in the meantime.”

“Will do,” Felicity chirps. Bree breezes from the room, and Curtis gives her a look.

“I love your sister,” he confesses, “but she scares the holy crap out of me.” Felicity snorts.

“Yeah, she has that effect on most people,” she agrees. Just then, the nurse clears her throat, reminding them of the dilemma currently sitting in the waiting room.

“Can I send them in, then?” the nurse asks. Felicity smiles sheepishly.

“Yeah, go ahead,” she tells the woman, and watches as the nurse promptly disappears to deliver the news.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Curtis asks, his face all concern, “I might not be much protection against the Queen family’s literal army of bodyguards, but I’m pretty great with the moral support.” Felicity shoots him a grateful smile.

“Go home, Curtis,” she orders, “I’ll be fine.” Curtis gives her an uncertain nod.

“Call me if you need anything,” he tells her, “Or if the doc clears you for caffeine.” Felicity pouts at the reminder. Curtis gives a heavy sigh before glancing furtively around the room and handing her his cup.

“You can have the rest,” he tells her, “but if you tell your sister, I’ll deny it with my dying breath.”

“You’re a god!” Felicity moans, grasping for the heavenly nectar, “A literal god. I’m going to build you an altar and sacrifice virgins to it.” Curtis grimaces at that mental image.

“Please don’t,” he says, “I don’t think Paul would appreciate it all that much.” Felicity shrugs around the coffee, but gives no further response as she chugs the lukewarm liquid. Bree was right; it's not so much coffee as it is muddy water that vaguely resembles the flavor of coffee, but after the night she had, it might as well be ambrosia for how good it tastes.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Curtis comments dryly, “I’m serious about calling if you need anything…” Felicity waves him away, face still buried in the styrofoam cup. Curtis rolls his eyes and leaves without another word.

Barely two seconds after Curtis’s exit, there’s another tap at the door. Felicity hurries to drain the last dregs of Curtis’s coffee and sets the cup side, turning to take in the polished perfection that is Moira Queen.

The phrase “perfectly coifed” runs through her head as she takes in the sight of the famous Queen matriarch. Moira Queen perhaps looked a little older than she did before her husband and son disappeared in the North China Sea, and there were shadows on her face that maybe shouldn’t have been there, but even so, Felicity thinks she’s probably the most perfectly put together person she’s ever seen, and she’s including Bree in that survey, Bree who never leaves the house without her armor of perfectly pressed suits and sky-high heels. Felicity is suddenly very aware of her own appearance. She’d changed into a hospital gown shortly after her arrival, but her hair is still a knotted mess, and her makeup is probably smeared to holy hell after the night she’s had.

If Moira Queen notices Felicity’s general dishevelment, she’s too polite to comment on it. Instead, she steps into the room with a fashionable smile.

“Ms. Smoak,” she says in greeting, “the nurse said it was alright if we paid a visit?” Felicity blinks. The nurse had said it was the Queen family waiting to see her, but she hadn’t really put it together that that meant the Queen _family_. Were they all here? Was she about to be faced with the entire dynasty? The thought makes her feel a little faint. Moira Queen waits patiently for her response, and it occurs to Felicity that she is currently making her boss’s boss’s boss wait on her reply. That’s enough to shake her out of her stupor.

“Of course,” she agrees with a forced smile, “please come in.” At that, Moira Queen steps further into her hospital room, seating herself in the chair that Bree had been occupying not ten minutes earlier with all the poise of a reigning monarch. She’s followed by two men, and Felicity realizes that while Moira Queen was not accompanied by her _entire_ family, she was at least joined by two of the most visible members: Queen Consolidated CEO Walter Steele, and her castaway son, Oliver Queen.

Felicity takes a moment to observe the newcomers. Walter Steele, while every bit as put together as his wife, exuded a good deal more warmth in his manner. He fixes Felicity with a kind smile as he steps in. Felicity returns it with a tentative smile of her own, but she doesn’t miss the way his sharp gaze seems to be sizing up the atmosphere of the room in a way that was probably habit after years spent in the business world.

It is the third person that really draws her attention. Oliver Queen’s return from the dead had been publicized on every news channel and magazine cover in town. Five years ago, he’d been tabloid fodder for his exploits as Ollie Queen, but looking at him now, Felicity can't see anything of the boy from before. He's someone else entirely. He doesn’t say anything as he trails in behind his stepfather, but his eyes fix on her in a way that makes Felicity feel like she’s being x-rayed. It’s the most intense stare she’s ever seen, and Felicity wonders if he’s like this constantly, or if there’s something about her specifically that’s making him stare like he’s searching for answers to the mysteries of the universe.

“Ms. Smoak, it’s a pleasure to meet you at last,” Walter Steele cuts in, drawing Felicity’s focus away from the mystery of Oliver Queen, “I’ve heard a lot about your work in the IT department,” he tells her with a warm smile, “It seems we’re very lucky to have you.” Felicity blushes a little at the praise.

“Pleased to meet you, too,” she answers, and then, because it’s her, she continues, “Or, well maybe _pleased_ isn't the word, I mean this is pretty intimidating if I’m being honest. You’re my _boss_. You totally have the power to fire me, which would be a _huge_ mistake on your part by the way, and oh god you’re not firing me are you?” the words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop them and Felicity wants to die. She watches as Moira Queen and Walter Steele both blink in stunned silence at her babble. Oliver's eyes glitter with suppressed laughter as he leans back against the wall, taking in the show. Mrs.Queen is the first to recover.

“No, we are certainly _not_ here to fire you,” she assures Felicity with a note of amusement, and Felicity lets out a small puff of relief.

“Then would you mind telling me why you’re here?” she asks. "No offense," she adds as an afterthought, "It’s just that you’re _Moira Queen_ ,” she says as if this is explanation enough, which if you ask her, it sort of is. Mrs. Queen doesn’t appear to understand her point though, if the little crinkle between her eyes is anything to go by, and _god_ but even _confusion_ looks elegant on this woman.

“What I mean is that you are practically this city’s version of royalty,” Felicity explains, “And I’m…going to stop talking now,” she finishes lamely, biting her lip to keep the nervous babble in. She watches Moira Queen’s dumbstruck expression and feels a tiny note of pride that she managed to make the woman look anything less than completely composed. Behind Mrs. Queen, her husband and son are both wearing expressions of amusement.

To her credit, Moira Queen recovers faster than most, shaking off Felicity’s rambling with cool efficiency and another polite smile.

“Yes, well when we heard about the attack on one of our employees, my family and I thought we owed it to you to pay a visit. How are you feeling?” Felicity shifts slightly, watching Mrs. Queen carefully.

“You didn’t have to come check on me,” she says, not quite keeping the note of surprise out of her voice. She hadn’t expected the Queen family to show concern over an employee they’d never met, and she was more than a little bit suspicious. “I mean, I’m an IT girl, it’s not like I’m someone important.” She frowns at her own statement and then corrects herself.

“Well, I mean I’m obviously important to _some people,_ ” she explains, “My sister was just in here five minutes ago threatening my friend’s life if anything happened to me, so clearly _she_ thinks I’m important, but I meant that I’m not important to _you._ Not in the grand scheme of things, and I’m sorry but I really have no filter when I’m nervous.” she winces as the room fills with awkward silence.

“I think you’ll find that we value the safety of all of our employees, Ms. Smoak,” Mr. Steele corrects her in his crisp British accent. It’s enough to set her at ease, and Felicity sends him a grateful smile.

“Yes,” Mrs. Queen agrees as she fixes her husband with a look of quiet adoration, “Walter is right,” she says as she turns back to Felicity, “And we want to assure you that we don’t take what happened tonight lightly. We’re already taking measures to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Felicity raises her eyebrows, because it’s starting to click in her head. She can read between the lines, and Mrs. Queen is clearly trying to suss out whether or not Felicity is planning on holding the company responsible for her attack. This wasn’t just a trip to check on Felicity’s well being; Moira Queen was worried that she might sue. The thought makes something in Felicity’s stomach turn unpleasantly.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Felicity assures her quickly, “I mean, I don’t blame the company, _or_ your family. Not at all. _You_ didn’t attack me. And I wouldn’t sue over something like this, I swear.” She watches as Mrs. Queen stiffens over the word ‘sue,’ and Felicity’s eyes widen slightly in panic.

“ _Not_ that you were worried that I would sue,” she clarifies, “I mean, maybe you might have been a _little_ worried, but I’m sure you meant it when you said you wanted to check on how I was doing.” Mrs. Queen gives her an assessing look, and her lips curl into a smile that Felicity thinks might be approval. There’s a gleam of respect in her eyes.

“You are a smart woman, Ms. Smoak,” the older woman notes, folding her hands demurely in her lap, “I expected as much reading your personnel file.” And Felicity doesn’t know how to feel about the idea of _Moira Queen_ reading her personnel file. Mrs. Queen continues in her silence.

“Yes, I suppose part of the reason for this visit was to ensure that you didn’t hold our family or the company responsible for tonight’s events,” she admits. Felicity’s mouth falls open slightly. She hadn’t actually expected the Queen matriarch to own up to her plan so easily, or at all really. Mrs. Queen’s hands wrap around her own as the woman leans forward, an earnest expression in her ice blue eyes.

“Nevertheless,” she presses, “I want to assure you that this visit was more than just protecting the company. We wanted to make sure that you were alright, and to let you know that we intend to do everything in our power to make certain that nothing like this ever happens again.”

Felicity sits in silence, stunned at the honesty in this woman’s voice. She hadn’t expected the Queen family to actually _care_ about the fate of their employees. Mrs. Queen’s eyes gentle.

“Yes, well it was pointed out to me recently that there is a degree of responsibility owed toward the wellbeing of the employees that keep our company strong,” Mrs. Queen admits, casting a proud look towards her son, who stands in the corner of the room, watching the entire conversation with the same intense scrutiny as before. Felicity’s attention focuses on him once more.

Oliver Queen had always been attractive in the photos taken by the press, but in person he was something else entirely, and it’s enough to make Felicity’s heart stutter as her breathing stalls in her chest. Of course, the damned heart monitor records this for the entire room, and Felicity watches as Oliver’s lips twist into a knowing smirk. She looks away, and it’s at that point that the implications of Mrs. Queen’s words finally sink in. She had spoken her thoughts on the Queen family’s regard for their employees out loud. Frak.

“I didn’t mean any offense,” she pleads, certain that _this_ is the point at which she is about to be fired. Mrs. Queen shakes her head.

“No,” she says emphatically, “No, you were absolutely right. My family has not traditionally done all that it could to show our appreciation and care for those working under us.” Felicity watches Mrs. Queen’s face harden into a mask of determination as she meets Felicity’s eyes once more, and Felicity wonders if there isn’t more to Moira Queen than elegant poise and designer clothes.

“It ends today,” Mrs. Queen’s voice is firm, brooking no argument. At this point, Mr. Steele decides it’s time to cut into the conversation.

“I’ve already spoken with the Head of Security for Queen Consolidated,” he announces, “As of today, the only thing required to gain access to the QC parking lot is a QC employee badge," he explains, "And for those who are unable to find a spot in the garage, security will offer an escort service to ensure that they reach their vehicles safely.” Walter Steele’s voice rings with pride, and Felicity doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker to his stepson as well. Had _Oliver Queen_ been the one to suggest these changes? It doesn’t sound like the Ollie Queen of five years ago, but then again, five years on a deserted island would change anyone, so maybe it isn’t a fair comparison anymore. Oliver, for his part, looks distinctly uncomfortable with the looks his mother and stepfather are sending him, and Felicity’s eyes catch on his fingers as he rubs them together nervously. Her heart twinges in sympathy. She can’t even imagine what it must be like for him, but she’s pretty sure that the hospital room is doing little to calm his unease.

“Thank you,” Felicity tells Mr. Steele, her voice earnest.

“It is the very least we can do,” he assures her kindly, “and to tell the truth, it is something that we should have been doing a long time ago.”

“Still, thank you,” Felicity repeats, eager that they should understand the importance of their actions.

“We would also like to pay for any medical expenses you might have from the attack,” Mrs. Queen adds, her tone soft, “I can’t imagine an IT salary leaves much room for hospital bills.” Felicity flushes, because it _really_ doesn’t, and Felicity is sure that Moira Queen had seen in her personnel file that Felicity had refused the company’s offered health insurance package: an oversight that Felicity intends to remedy ASAP.

“That’s very kind of you,” she says finally, “Thank you.” Mrs. Queen gives her a dismissive wave of her hand.

“As my husband said, it is the very least we can do,” she assures her.

“It really isn’t,” Felicity argues, “So thank you.” Mrs. Queen looks unsure of what to say to this, but she gives Felicity a small smile, and Felicity thinks it might be the first genuine one she’s received from the woman.

“I am truly glad that you are alright, Ms. Smoak,” the older woman tells her, “That is thanks enough, I think.” With that, she stands from her seat and smoothes the wrinkles from her skirt with frightening efficiency.

“We should leave you to rest,” she announces briskly, “Please don’t hesitate to call in if you should need some time to recover from your ordeal,” she tells Felicity, “Your supervisor has already been appraised of the situation.”

“Thank you,” Felicity says again, “but it’s Friday, so I’m sure by Monday I’ll be back to normal.” She frowns, thinking, “And to be honest, I don’t think the department would survive a day without me.” She flushes as she realizes how that sounds, but Mrs. Queen and her husband both smile in amusement.

“From what I hear about you, Ms. Smoak, I’m certain that’s true,” Mr. Steele assures her, and Felicity reddens further at this praise.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Smoak,” Moira Queen says in way of goodbye. She and her husband both turn to leave.

“You, too,” Felicity calls after them. It’s only after they’ve left that she realizes that Oliver Queen has lingered, looking unsure of his reception.

“Was there something I could help you with, Mr. Queen?” Felicity asks, watching him curiously. He tenses at being addressed.

“Mr. Queen was my father,” he corrects her quickly.

“Right, but he’s dead,” Felicity responds, and her eyes widen in horror, “I mean he drowned!” she corrects quickly, and that’s not much better, “But you didn’t. Which means you could come down to Starling General and listen to me babble,” she takes a deep breath, “Which will end,” she tells him, “In three…two…one…” She bites down hard on her lip to keep from saying anything else offensive, but Oliver Queen just gives her an amused grin, and _sweet lord_. If he was gorgeous before, he ‘s absolutely _devastating_ now. Felicity stares in wonder as he looks on in amusement.

 

He seems to remember that he stayed behind for a reason, because he gives a little shake before pulling out a plastic Ziploc bag from the pocket of his jeans and offering it to Felicity.

It takes her a moment to understand what is happening, but then she recognizes the contents of the bag and suddenly she can’t _breathe._

“How did you get this?” she asks, looking at him in amazement. She’s holding a bag full of jewelry. _Her_ jewelry: the necklace and ring she’d been wearing earlier before the attack.

“Someone dropped those off along with a purse at the security desk at Queen Consolidated,” he explains hesitantly, “The purse had your ID in it, so I figured the jewelry was probably yours, too.” He shrugs, as if this is nothing. “The cops took your bag as evidence, but I managed to swipe those before they saw them.” His eyes are gentle on her as he studies her expression.

“I figured you might want them back,” he finishes softly. There’s something in his face that makes Felicity think that he’s not giving her the whole story, but she doesn’t _care_ , because up until this moment she’d been _sure_ that she would never see her grandmother’s ring or Bree’s necklace ever again, and now she’s holding them in her hand. Her eyes sting, and she sniffles, wiping quickly at the gathering tears.

“Ugh,” she mutters, “I am so _not_ the crying type. Or I _am_ , but only for sad movies and that commercial with the sick puppies,” she explains. Oliver gives her a small smile of understanding.

“From what I hear, you had a rough day,” he tells her gently, “I think you’re probably entitled to a few tears.” And that just makes Felicity’s heart ache, because she can only imagine the kind of days he’s had over the past five years, and the thought of that makes her want to wrap him in her fluffiest blanket and shove a cup of cocoa into his hands.

“Thank you,” she whispers instead. A strange expression crosses his face, but it’s gone almost as soon as it appears, and he replaces it with a politician’s smile. Felicity thinks that he is _definitely_ Moira Queen’s son.

“Don’t mention it,” he tells her, and his eyes are shadowed with a sadness that Felicity cannot hope to understand. His smile never falters.

“Feel better,” he tells her, giving a brief pat on her leg as he turns to leave. The physical contact is almost as shocking as this entire visit.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she calls after him. He freezes in the doorway, and Felicity ploughs ahead. “I mean, I’m glad you didn’t drown,” she clarifies, “And…I’m sorry. For what you had to go through.” He doesn’t move for a long moment, and Felicity is very grateful that she’s in a hospital room because at least this way if she dies of embarrassment, they’ll have a better chance of bringing her back.

“Thank you,” he says finally, his voice almost too soft to hear, and it makes her heart hurt that he can sound so genuinely surprised at her words. He doesn’t say anything else, and then Felicity is once again alone, holding her jewelry and thinking that her life has suddenly gotten very strange.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…what did you guys think? We've officially met Breeana Smoak. She's gonna be around for the rest of the story as far as I can tell, so I hope you guys liked her okay. 
> 
> I'm one of those people who actually LIKES Moira Queen (shocker. I know.), so I'm going to be a little bit kinder to her character than some fics. I absolutely intend to show the moral ambiguities that go along with her, but I also want to show some of the softer sides that we caught glimpses of in the show. We saw some of that in this chapter.
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought of Felicity's first official meeting of Oliver Queen. We'll hopefully be getting more of Felicity and the vigilante in the next chapter. ;) 
> 
> Comments feed my eternal soul. Just saying.
> 
> xoxo,  
> Lani


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity gets a surprise visit from the vigilante.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys!
> 
> Wow, the response for that last chapter was absolutely AMAZING! Thank you so much for all of the wonderful comments you sent my way. It warmed my heart and it definitely inspired me to work hard at getting this next chapter out as soon as possible. I'm so glad that everyone seems to be liking Bree as a character! This next chapter is going to feature a lot of the vigilante, so be prepared. I'm following the timeline of the show for now, but I'm planning on changing a few things as we go.
> 
> Sidenote: For the sake of keeping Oliver's secret identity a secret, I have replaced his original grease paint disguise with an actual mask, because there's just no way that Felicity could see under the hood and NOT know it was Oliver Queen otherwise.
> 
> Disclaimer: As always, I do not own any of the characters of Arrow. Only Bree. 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Crutches were officially the devil. Felicity has fallen down five times today, her arms _hurt_ , and the thought of taking the stairs to the third-floor walk-up she shares with her sister makes her want to weep. Whoever thought it was a good idea to build a six-story apartment complex with no elevator had obviously never had to deal with taking the stairs on a sprained ankle.

She’s red and sweating by the time she reaches her floor, muttering the entire way. All she wants to do is change into her cute froggy pajamas and curl up with a glass of wine and a marathon of whatever is waiting for her in her Netflix queue. Of course, as soon as she manages to wrestle her way into the apartment (keys and crutches do _not_ mix), she is greeted with the shadowy figure of Starling City’s vigilante waiting for her in her living room.

“Holy Frak!” she yelps, dropping keys _and_ crutches as her hand flies to her heart. She can actually _feel_ the years being taken off of her life.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the vigilante promises, putting his hands up in a show of peace. It takes a moment for Felicity to restart her heart, but once she does, she finds herself rolling her eyes.

“It would be a little counterintuitive for you to rescue a girl one day, just to attack her the next,” she agrees, “although, the hood and the arrows don’t exactly suggest rational decision making, so I suppose anything’s possible,” she murmurs to herself. She can’t even bring herself to feel bad about her lack of filter this time. She’s still reeling from her mini heart attack. He doesn’t seem offended though; in fact, she’d venture to say that he finds her suggestion _amusing_ , if the quirk of his lips beneath the shadow of the hood is any indication.

“I need your help,” he tells her, doing nothing to refute her assumptions about his sanity. Felicity huffs impatiently, leaning against the doorjamb as she bends down to pick up her keys. She leaves the crutches because the couch is literally _two feet away_ , and she can totally hop that far.

“And so you thought giving me heart failure was the way to go about it?” she asks, giving him a look to show him _exactly_ what she thinks of this plan

“How did you even find me?” she wonders as an afterthought, “It’s not like we exchanged contact information the last time we saw each other.” She settles into the couch with a quiet groan of relief, and silently promises herself that she is _not_ moving from this spot. _Ever_.

“Your ID was in your purse,” he explains, shifting uncomfortably on his feet because he probably knows how that sounds, “It had your address.” Felicity narrows her eyes at him.

“The _only_ reason you are getting a pass on the stalker behavior is because you saved my life three days ago,” she tells him, pointing her finger at his chest threateningly, “Next time, I am totally going to use my loud voice because that is seriously _not. cool._ ” He offers a small shrug in apology.

“I noticed your IT badge while I was returning your purse,” he admits, “I need help, and as you pointed out, you didn’t exactly give me your phone number.” Which is fair, but Felicity is not really in the mood to be fair. She glowers at him for another moment.

“If I give you my number, will you promise not to give me a heart attack the next time you need technical assistance?” she asks sharply. He seems to consider this for a moment.

“Regular phones are too easily traced,” he decides finally, “You’ll have a burner phone with my number programmed into it by this time tomorrow.” Felicity decides not to mention the fact that there is literally no one who could trace her phone if she didn't want them to, and instead wonders how she’s gone from plans for an evening in, to exchanging contact info with a freaking _vigilante_ in the span of fifteen minutes. Finally, she gives him a nod of acceptance.

“What did you need my help with?” she asks finally. He holds up a laptop for her to see, and it looks like he got it from some sort of warzone. Felicity’s eyes widen.

“Are those _bullet holes_?” she demands incredulously.

“I need you to get whatever information you can off of this,” he tells her, ignoring her question because _of course_ those are bullet holes in the vigilante’s computer. Stupid question. Felicity narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“If I do this, is it going to end with some rich schmuck getting a couple of arrows in the chest?” she demands, “because as grateful as I am for your help the other night, I am _not_ okay with being an accomplice to murder.” He straightens visibly.

“The men I kill are a cancer on this city,” he growls, “and I only kill when I have to.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Felicity says, “Just tell me that this isn’t going to end with someone dead because of the information _I’m_ providing you.” He stalks forward, towering over her in some macho attempt at intimidation. Felicity glares at him, entirely aware of what he’s trying to do.

“The guy I’m going after is an international assassin,” he informs her in his deep, grumbly voice, “he’s picking off targets in _my_ city. You help me, and I might be able to stop him before he kills his next target.” Felicity hesitates. She might not like the idea of someone dying because of something _she_ did, but she can’t just sit by and let innocent people die either. Finally, she sighs.

“Just…promise me you’ll at least _try_ not to kill him,” she begs, “I really don’t want someone else’s blood on my conscience, even if it _is_ the blood of an international assassin.”

All at once, the harsh lines of the man in front of her soften, and he takes a small step back. Felicity watches intently, needing to see how he’ll respond. She can’t see his face, but she can _feel_ his eyes on her. She resists the urge to fidget under his gaze.

“Okay,” he agrees finally, his deep voice soft, almost a whisper. Felicity blinks.

“Okay?” she presses hopefully; she can’t _believe_ that he’s actually _agreeing_ to her terms.

“I promise I will do my very best not to kill him,” he clarifies, and it’s like a weight has lifted off of Felicity’s shoulders. She lets out a shaky breath, still processing the fact that she stood off against Starling City’s vigilante and actually _won._ She gives a short nod.

“Okay,” she says, “hand me the computer.”

She frowns as he places the wrecked piece of technology in her waiting hands. It’s worse than she originally thought, and her soul hurts a little at how poorly this laptop has been treated.

“What did the bad criminals do to you?” she murmurs gently, and she catches the barest flicker of a smile out of the corner of her eye. It takes less than two seconds for her to determine that she’ll need to remove the hard drive entirely and plug it into her own computer. With any luck, it's still intact.

“I need you to go into my room and grab the bright blue tool bag on my desk, along with the laptop sitting next to it,” she tells the man waiting somewhat _less_ than patiently beside her, “I’ll need to see if I can plug the hard drive into my monitor and retrieve the data that way.” He gives a stiff nod before turning to follow her instructions. She watches him stalk purposefully toward her room and idly hopes that she didn’t leave any bras lying around.

It doesn’t take long for him to return, and Felicity gets straight to work. She lets out a small murmur of triumph when she discovers the hard drive miraculously in tact, but falls silent after that. She doesn’t speak again until she’s broken through the encryption around the hard drive’s data and pulled up the directory.

“Any idea what I’m looking for?” she asks the vigilante that is currently hovering behind her like some sort of weird overgrown vulture in green leather. He leans over the back of the couch, putting himself firmly in Felicity’s personal bubble. She can feel his breath on her ear as he studies the file names on the screen, and it’s all she can do to suppress a small shiver. He’s silent for a few moments before pointing at one file in particular.

“That one,” he says decisively. Felicity’s brow crinkles.

“How do you know?” she asks, curious. The folder in question is named using Chinese characters, and it means nothing to her eyes.

“It’s the Mandarin word for Starling,” he explains, his voice gruff, and this time Felicity can’t quite keep the shiver from running down her spine. She glances at him in surprise.

“You speak Chinese?” she asks. He gives a tight nod, and Felicity files the information away in the mental folder she’s created for this man.

She clicks on the folder and it brings up a list of files. She clicks the first one and a set of blueprints fills her screen. Felicity recognizes the name listed at the bottom of the page.

“These are blueprints for the Exchange Building,” she notes, a small sliver of dread curling low in her belly.

“What’s that?” the vigilante presses, impatient with her silence.

“It’s where the UNIDAC Industries auction is scheduled to take place this Friday,” she whispers, horrified. She turns to face him directly.

“There are going to be _dozens_ of innocent people there,” she tells him, urgently, “Any one of them could be the target, and someone is bound to get caught in the crossfire.” His lips turn down in a frown.

“You think the auction is when he intends to hit?” he asks her, “why?” Felicity blinks.

“My boss, Walter Steele,” she answers, “He’s preparing a bid for UNIDAC, and this is a company laptop associated with one of the guys he’s competing against.” The vigilante nods in understanding.

“Floyd Lawton,” he supplies. Felicity frowns.

“No,” she responds, pointing to a name at the top left corner of the screen, “Warren Patel,” she corrects. “Who’s Floyd Lawton?” And if possible, his frown intensifies.

“He’s an employee of Mr. Patel, evidently,” he answers, his voice dark. Felicity glances back to the blueprints, studying them as she searches for any further information.

“There’s too many windows,” she tells him finally, “You’ll never be able to defend all of them on your own.”

“I know,” he agrees.

“What are you going to do?” Felicity asks as she transfers the data onto a USB drive and hands it to him.

“Get help,” he tells her with a small smile.

“You mean besides me?” Felicity teases, “How many women owe you favors exactly?” He ducks his head.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he tells her seriously. Felicity shrugs, glancing pointedly at her ankle brace with a small smile.

“I _kind of_ disagree,” she argues. He shakes his head, but doesn’t protest further. Instead, he gathers up the USB drive and the destroyed laptop, preparing to leave. Felicity watches him as he moves to the window connected to her fire escape. At least now she knows how he got in. Before he can slide the window open, Felicity stops him.

“Wait!” she calls, and he freezes as Felicity struggles to her feet and hobbles over to where he’s still standing. He watches her with his head tilted in curiosity. She grasps at his shoulder as she draws near, using him to keep her balance. He tenses under her touch and she quickly removes her hand.

“I just…” she pauses, unsure of how to phrase this, “My boss, Walter Steele?” she waits for his nod of acknowledgement, “Well he’s going to be at the auction this Friday,” she tells him, “Which means that he might be one of the targets.” He gives another stiff nod as Felicity continues, “His family will be there,” she tells him, “And Moira Queen might scare me a little, but she doesn’t deserve to lose another husband. They’re good people, and I just…” she pauses, looking away, because she doesn’t really know what she’s asking here: for him to protect the Queen family? He’s already going to be doing that, just by virtue of showing up. What more can she ask of him?

“Just do what you can to keep them safe,” she finishes finally.

There’s a long moment of silence, in which she can feel the way he’s frozen, from surprise or something else she can’t be sure. Finally, his gloved hand brushes against her cheek, gently pulling her gaze back to him. It’s the first time she’s seen his eyes under the hood. A black mask obscures the upper half of his face, but his eyes are bright blue and filled with some emotion Felicity can’t place: something like...wonder.

“I’ll do my best,” he murmurs softly, and it’s a promise even if he doesn’t say the words. Felicity knows in the very core of her being that this man will do whatever he has to in order to keep his word. She gives him a small nod.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and there’s a tension that builds as he looks at her, like a rubber band drawing tight, about to snap. Felicity can feel herself leaning towards him. His eyes never stray from hers.

The moment disappears with the sound of a key turning at the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUNNNNNN!!! Wonder who's at the door…
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. We got a little bit of conflict between Felicity and the vigilante, followed by a little bit of tension… If I haven't mentioned yet, I intend for this to be a slow burn, but that doesn't mean I can't have a *little* fun. I promise you won't have to wait long to see what happens next. I'm almost finished writing the next chapter, so expect another update in the next few days.
> 
> Comments keep my soul alive.
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> Lani

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter done! Whew! This is a rewrite of the first season, but you might have already noticed that I'm taking liberties with characters. I love Curtis too much to leave him until the fourth season, and I always thought that Felicity needed a social life outside of vigilante-ing, so he is going to be included in the story from the beginning. I also gave Felicity a sister because I could. Like I said, I want to show more of Felicity's life outside of the Arrow. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! I am your typical writer and therefore subsist mainly off of coffee and comments. *hint hint*


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